Nothing
by The Raven and the Fox
Summary: The warm gush of deep red blood. The shaking, the cold, the numbness. These are all feelings I'm familiar with, feelings I gratefully welcome to inhabit my body for as long as they'll stay, leaving no room for the kind of pain that never leaves me.


**Title:** Nothing

**Summary:** The warm gush of deep red blood. The shaking, the cold, the numbness. These are all feelings I'm familiar with, feelings I gratefully welcome to inhabit my body for as long as they'll stay, leaving no room for the kind of pain that never leaves me.

**Words:** 5502

**Contains:** SasuNaru, hints of SaiNaru. Death, graphic violence, lots of angst.

This is based on the song "Nothing" by The Script. I'm sure some of you know it. Then I decided to incorporate some other ideas I'd found intriguing. I like exploring these kinds of things by writing about them, as opposed to doing them myself or meeting someone who does/has done them. It follows the song's narrative a lot less than I'd originally planned, but that's probably a good thing. Maybe I shouldn't write angsty fics… they make me feel like a teenager of an age that is a few years less than mine. The point is, this fic has a very dark tone, so be ready for it.

Writing in a limited point of view is hard enough when you want to show other people's thoughts and feelings. It gets even harder when the character isn't very perceptive or objective, or they hold beliefs they don't realize are false. There are many things I'd have liked to add to this story that I just couldn't due to the point of view. Ah, well. Enjoy.

* * *

><p>The Valley of the End. Orochimaru's hideout. Team Seven's training grounds. Lightning flickering out; a mess of black hair; dead grey eyes; a cold, unmoving body.<p>

These images refuse to fade from my vision.

A knock on the front door startles me so badly that I jump and the dagger in my hand slices into my ankle. I bite down on a curse that threatens to make itself heard as the blade clatters loudly against the shower floor. When I've got the pain under control I call out, "Just a second!"

I scramble out of the bathroom, grab the first pair of pants I can find, tug them on over my boxers, and run for the door, every other step jarring the cut. I open the door to see a face with red marks down its cheeks grinning at me.

"Hey, Naruto," says Kiba. "What are you doing in there, fighting a thief?"

"Wh—no," I reply, then wince as another throb of pain lances through me, accompanied by a sudden awareness of the feeling of hot liquid on my skin. I don't want to alert Kiba, but I can't help it – I glance down. My leg is bleeding pretty badly, pouring blood down my foot onto the floor. Shit, that probably means I was dripping all the way along the hall.

"Whoa. You should probably get that bandaged," Kiba says, following my gaze. "Want me to help? What'd you do to yourself?"

"Just dropped a dagger; I can handle it," I tell him. I glance sideways into the open closet, which holds one of many first aid kits in my flat, and grab it to start treating the wound. "What's the occasion?"

"What do you mean, what's the occasion?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me. "I haven't seen you in weeks. No one has."

"I have missions—"

"I know you do. We all do. But they really keep Team Seven busy, don't they? It's like they're purposely trying to—"

"Just say it, Kiba," I say, a little more irritably than I'd meant to. "I'm kind of busy right now."

Kiba gives a bark of laughter. "Doing what, cutting yourself?" he jokes.

I flinch at this. "Don't be stupid," I say quickly, tying off the bandage. "So?"

He looks at me funny, but shrugs it off and says, "Me and the guys are going out for drinks tonight. Since you're around for the weekend, we figured it'd be nice to catch up and stuff."

"Oh." I drop my gaze. Even when I have been around, I haven't really hung out with the others much. You might say I'm avoiding them – avoiding people. I can't avoid Sakura or Sai, but then they can always see through any façade of mine anyway.

"So, how about it?" asks Kiba. Though his tone is still fairly light, a note of hesitation tells me he's starting to catch on to the idea that something's up. "We'll come pick you up around nine, then head down to Ichiraku's."

I notice that not even the name of my favourite ramen-stall-turned-restaurant brightens my mood anymore. "Maybe another time," I say, shaking my head. "I have a lot to do before the next mission."

"You can't use that kind of an excuse on me. You're not leaving until Monday; you've got two days to sort everything out."

"No, really, Kiba." I sigh. "Sorry to let you down. I just—"

"Kiba?"

Kiba turns around, and I look past him. It's Sai, climbing up the stairs to my apartment floor.

"Oh, hey, Sai," says Kiba, smiling. It looks so easy. "You busy tonight? We're all going out for drinks, and you and Naruto are invited."

"Thanks, Kiba, but we should be preparing for our mission," says Sai.

"What, you're serious?" He looks from Sai to me, then sighs. "Well, if that's how it is. If you manage to find a bit of free time, though, you know where and when. Alright, Naruto?"

I nod noncommittally. Kiba looks a little dubious when he says goodbye, but heads off down the stairs.

"What do you want, Sai?" I ask, turning back into the flat, knowing Sai will come in regardless of what I tell him.

"Just checking up on you," he says quietly, entering and closing the door behind him. He takes off his shoes, noticing the blood as he does so. "I thought you weren't showing anyone."

"This was an accident!" I snap. I need to wash the blood off my foot, but Sai's watching me and the dagger is still lying in the shower. Could I…? I head to the bathroom and try to close the door quickly behind me, but to no avail – Sai spots the knife and pulls the door open. I wince at the slight intake of breath I hear from him, and turn on the shower to rinse the blood off.

"You were going to do it again." He sighs. "Stop this, Naruto. It's not good for you."

"You think I don't know that?" Once everything is clean, I dry off my foot, brush past Sai into the main area of my flat, and slump down on the bed. Under my breath I murmur, "It's the only way."

Sai comes to sit next to me. "Tell Tsunade," he says, putting a hand on my back. "Or let Sakura tell her, if you can't say it yourself. You need to get help."

"I'm fine," I tell him firmly. I make as though to get Sai's hand off me, but he doesn't move – and to be honest, I don't really want him to. "I can control it. As long as I submit to the cravings I'm fine."

"You sound like a drug addict." Sai frowns. "You know, you're the one who manufactured the cravings in the first place."

"What do you mean, manufactured? You think I can help it?" I hate this. It happens too often: the arguments, the blame, the guilt.

"If you set a schedule on this kind of thing, it's no wonder you'll start expecting it."

"It wasn't on purpose! If it so happens that my free time is at the same time every day—"

Before I can stop him, Sai grabs my hand and tugs at the knot of the bandage on my forearm. It's tied off so as to be easy to undo, and within moments it's unravelled, revealing dozens of regular, controlled gashes, some red and tender, others scarred white, none the result of hard missions and close fights. As Sai brings his fingers to touch the shredded skin, I notice that he's trembling.

"Look at yourself," he whispers. "Look at what you're doing to yourself."

"It doesn't matter." I wrench my own shaking arm out of his grasp, my chest squeezing at the pain in Sai's voice. It's been a couple of years since we met him and he's no longer the odd and unsocialized ANBU Root kid he used to be, but he's still fairly quiet and knows how to control his emotions. To hear even this much sadness in his voice is surprising – well, no. I'll be honest; I've come to expect it lately. But that doesn't mean it affects me any less. Is this even fair? Why does he also have to hurt for me? Why is he _allowed_ to hurt for me? What does he know of loss?

"It does matter," says Sai. "Don't do this anymore. You're destroying yourself."

I stand, go back into the bathroom, and pick up the dagger from in the shower. I ignore the fact that I'm still wearing my pants; that the shower door is open; that Sai's getting up off the bed and coming towards me, voice rising in alarm. Before he can reach me, I put the blade to my wrist and, savouring every agonizing moment, gouge a deep, long line, almost faltering where the new gash intersects with recent ones, turning a stinging pain into an aching one. Aching is no good; dull pain is only a nuisance and isn't enough to blot out the usual pain – the stress, the frustration, the overwhelming sense of loss – that plagues me. What I need is the intensity of a sharp, clear stab to burrow deep into my mind and erase everything else. The warm gush of deep red blood. The shaking, the cold, the numbness. These are all feelings I'm familiar with, feelings I gratefully welcome to inhabit my body for as long as they'll stay, leaving no room for the kind of pain that never leaves me.

"Stop, Naruto!" A hand seizes mine, wrests the dagger from my grasp, tosses it away. I'm bleeding profusely now, but Sai ignores how it's spraying onto our clothes and his skin and everything – after all, we're ninjas – and pins me to the bathroom wall, holding my wrists above my head. The pain is really starting to set in now, fading from the initial biting sensation into a throbbing cold as the blood drains either down my arm towards my heart, or out onto my skin and the wall and the floor tiles. Already my body is aching with the need to feel that sting again, to erase the memories, the failures. But Sai's grip on me is strong, even in the slippery blood that stains his hands, and the look in his eyes is so unexpectedly vivid, so desperate, so _wild_ that for a moment I'm caught in shock.

"Please," he says, in barely a whisper. "Stop."

"Make it stop," I breathe in reply. The shaking's spread to the rest of my body, the stinging in my arm now a prickling at the corners of my eyes, the tightness of my fingers around the dagger now the lump in my throat that I can't swallow down. Sai's grip on me slackens and he pulls me close, and I fall into him, hurting, hurting everywhere.

—

When I come to sometime later, my arm is pulsing only dully; I am lying in a bed that I can tell is mine because it doesn't smell like anyone else or the dusty, sterile hospital. I can hear quiet voices, though where they're situated, who they are, and what they're talking about are indistinct in my state of half-sleep. I let myself drift for another few minutes, then open my eyes.

From my viewpoint on the bed, I notice that the bathroom is clean, no trace of red anywhere to be seen. The dagger is probably put away somewhere, although I can't see the floor over the edge of the bed. I can see pink just within my vision.

"He's awake." That's Sai's voice. I try to sit up, but a hand gently pushes me back and Sai comes into view. "Don't strain yourself."

"I'm not dying," I mumble, but I'm not awake enough to try anything more. Footsteps approach, then Sakura appears as well.

"I healed your wounds," says Sakura quietly, "and we cleaned up."

"Thanks," I reply, though without much conviction. Sure, I'd be better off without the scars –then I wouldn't have to hide my arms and legs – but it doesn't seem right to cut and then have a medic erase the wounds like they never happened. It happened, and there's no turning back time. That's why I keep the scars. To remind myself of the shame.

I used to carve his name into my arm. Then I realized the pain is meant to make me forget, not remember. Now the characters are just pale white memories, almost completely healed over by time and Kyuubi's chakra.

"I'll leave you with Sai," she says. "Really though, Naruto. if you don't tell someone, we will. Do it, okay?"

"Okay," I reply automatically. It's probably a lie.

Sakura glances at me worriedly, then touches Sai's shoulder before seeing herself out.

Sai sits down on the edge of my bed and reaches out to caress my cheek. I close my eyes, wanting to sleep again, feeling the slightly cold touch of Sai's hand as his thumb brushes across the scars I've had since birth, his fingertips ghosting against the side of my neck, behind my ear, along my jaw. I turn my head towards the contact, trying to feel everything as vividly as possible, relishing the cup of a palm, the sliding of smooth skin, the nimbleness of slender fingers, gentle and soothing words – then my eyes snap open and I bolt upright.

"Are you okay?" says Sai's voice – it is unmistakably Sai's, when I am fully awake. I stare, taking in my surroundings, rooting myself to this world, this reality. And as usual, with reality comes the crushing realization, like I've lost him all over again, like I had him for a moment but he is once more slipping away from between my fingers out of my grasp into the darkness—

"Naruto, look at me," Sai insists, reaching out, but I grab his wrist to intercept before he can make contact. I can't look at him. He's too real a reminder of what I don't have.

"I think you should go," I tell him quietly.

"Naruto—"

"Go," I rasp. "Please."

I let go of his wrist. He's still a moment longer, then stands up.

"I'm sure you already know this," he says, "but don't go tonight."

I grunt in reply, flopping back in bed and rolling onto my side, with my back to Sai.

"Naruto, promise me you won't go."

"Sure." Sai doesn't understand that his insistence is actually goading me on; his attempt to convince me is pushing me away instead. He ought to remember that I've always been a rebel.

—

The need is like a hunger. If I submit to the cravings just a little bit, it'll hold me off for just a little bit, like a snack. If I sit and make a proper meal of it, I'm satisfied for longer. As it stands, the one cut I made before Sai stopped me lasted me until dinner; I could only take a few bites before I stopped being able to sit still for how much I needed that relief again. I knocked over my mug of tea and didn't even bother to clean it up in my desperation to lock myself in the bathroom with a dagger to surrender to the mind-numbing agony.

That's why my fingers are still weak when I lock my front door that night, just after nine. My hands are cold and my arms are throbbing, but I'm going out anyway. I could have cut my legs and it wouldn't have mattered. I'm a ninja; I've fought on broken legs before, so a few scratches on my arms mean nothing to me tonight.

I guess that's a lie. If the scars, the cutting, the pain meant nothing, I wouldn't inflict them upon myself, would I?

They were nearly gone today. Sakura's amazing at healing; she can mend a broken leg and send the patient home walking on their own two feet within the week. Of course a few petty scratches wouldn't bother her. Even the oldest, most ragged permanent scars are barely visible now. She probably just fixed them up the way she deals with everything. When you're a ninja, injuries stop being frightening. Sakura, who has to analyse and undo them, probably didn't even bat an eyelash at the state of my arms and legs.

Fuck, it felt good to tear that perfect skin.

Nearly everyone is at Ichiraku's, taking up two tables. Chouji's eating pretty much everything; Shikamaru's taking a swig of something dark from a mug; Neji's putting up with a rambling Lee; Shino is quietly watching everyone from the corner. Kiba's nestled comfortably against Akamaru, but jumps up when he sees me.

"Hey, Naruto!" he exclaims, beaming. "You decided to come after all. Come on, have a drink."

I let Kiba herd me into the restaurant. He presses a drink into my hand as everyone else greets me with enthusiasm; I manage to crack a smile, but it's utterly fake – I'm not feeling it at all. Of course I'm not. When was the last time I smiled sincerely?

"You look tired," says Shikamaru. "What's up?"

"It's nothing," I tell him. Nothing new, anyway. "How is everyone?"

This simple question distracts them for nearly an hour. There's nothing people like to talk about more than themselves, so I'm spared the scrutiny of my peers for a while as catching up turns into storytelling and arguments and jokes. I don't even particularly pay attention to most of what they're saying; instead, bits and pieces burrow into my memory, hook onto images, and drag them back to the forefront of my mind. The Hidden Mist village, where we fought Zabuza and Haku. The Chuunin exams, where Orochimaru turned our lives inside-out. The old Uchiha estate, now a budding new neighbourhood full of young aspiring ninjas and their families. And every single memory I can think of anymore involves the same person: dark hair, pale skin, bright eyes.

"Oi, Naruto."

I blink as a slender, graceful face transforms into Chouji's round, swirl-cheeked one. "Huh?"

"I asked if you wanted anything to eat," he says, waving a kebab.

"Oh. No thanks."

"Are you sure? You look kinda pale."

"You seem down lately," Neji notes. "Did something happen? On a mission or something?"

"Not – not recently," I reply, staring into my empty mug. That's the fourth now; I keep saying no but they're telling me I don't have to pay and really, who am I to decline free drink? So now I'm getting light-headed and my thoughts are slow and I'm feeling much too warm, but despite being tipsy my mind is telling me no, no matter how hot it is you can't take off the bandages; you've already taken off your sweater and your wounds are still healing and more than anything you can't show them you are weak.

"You're not still hung up about—" Kiba begins, but is stopped by Shino slapping his hand over his mouth.

"Naruto… you're still in mourning?" asks Shino.

I turn away, wincing. "Yeah."

"It's been more than a year," Neji says hesitantly. "Is it really…"

"Think about it, Neji," I say. "I chased him for almost ten years. I saw him fleetingly about three times during that, and always in the middle of a battle. Do you really think one year of mourning is excessive?"

"Naruto, he's – he's gone," says Kiba, sounding somewhat helpless. "There's nothing you can do. You did everything you could to bring him back. You're not helping anyone by sulking about it—"

I'm on top of Kiba faster than blinking, a dagger in my white-knuckle grip, the blade pressed against Kiba's throat. "Don't you fucking—"

"Naruto!" Two pairs of hands pull me off of Kiba. I let them, once my mind catches up with my body. I put away the dagger and slump back down on the bench, burying my fingers in my hair. I'm shaking, my throat constricting, my heart squeezing. It's that pain again. I'll do anything to drown it, anything to forget.

"Kiba didn't mean it," says Shikamaru; the edge in his voice is clearly directed at Kiba. "All he was trying to say is that you don't deserve to have to suffer like this. If you let yourself—"

"I deserve it," I shout, before he can go on. "Trust me. You weren't there."

Kiba frowns. "How do you think Sasuke would feel if he knew you were still like this a year after his death? You think he'd be proud of you?"

"How should I know? The bastard probably hated me," I say through gritted teeth.

"You guys were best friends and arch rivals. I know it was hard for someone like him to admit he liked people, so he'd probably tell you to get a grip on yourself, right?"

"Kiba—"

"No, Shikamaru, let me say this. Sasuke wasn't the type to beat around the bush or soften the blow. You're a ninja, Naruto. You've seen friends and enemies alike die. Sometimes it's a death by your hands; sometimes you could have prevented it. But you live on, because that's all you can do. You work to make this country a better place, and you, Naruto, you wanted to become Hokage. What happened to that?"

"Can a guy who failed to bring home his best friend ever rule a village?" I retort. "Do you think I'm worthy of that title? Will I ever be the strongest ninja with that failure under my belt?"

"Everyone fails, Naruto! No one's perfect. No one's asking you to be. Many people have lost loved ones. Kakashi's friends are all gone. Asuma's gone. Hinata too. You've lost Jiraiya, as has Tsunade. Sasuke killed Itachi himself. But we all live on in spite of that. You knew this when you signed up to be a ninja. We're no strangers to death."

By the time he finishes talking, Kiba's shaking too; I know how hard it was for him to lose Hinata – how hard it was for Shino, for all of us. The look in his eyes silences me, and I have to drop my gaze. It's not that what he says isn't true, or that all these losses are any less important. It's just that… this is Sasuke we're talking about. Sasuke, and me. I would have done anything to bring him back. I'd throw away my dream to become Hokage, kill a thousand enemies, get torn to pieces and tear him to pieces. Sasuke made me stronger, competed with me, fought with me. He changed my life; he was my reason for living, and now that he's gone…

A sigh precedes Kiba sitting heavily next to me. He calls for the waiter, and in a minute my mug is refilled. "Drink, Naruto," he says, suddenly sounding weary. "It'll help you forget."

"I don't want to forget."

"You want to forget the pain. You want to remember all the good things and none of the bad. Drink."

And so I drink. Slowly, cautiously, the conversation starts up again, though without the same cheer as before. The talk of death, the mention of those names that have been added to the memorial in these past years, has sobered us. Well, everyone else, anyway. I was already this low when I started drinking. As the mood gradually lightens around me, I find myself submitting to the thoughts I've pushed back so insistently, and the images turn from memory to imagination. Kiba said drinking would help me forget, but it's doing nothing of the sort. Though I'm wide awake and watching the others, occasionally voicing a couple of words as they ask me for an opinion, really I'm dreaming about Sasuke. All the times I went to his apartment to bother him, all the times he came over to criticize my cooking skills and lack of hygiene. I imagine moving in with him – when we were twelve, fifteen, eighteen: it doesn't matter. He'd force me to clean and teach me to cook. We'd sleep on futons on the ground, and he'd look so peaceful, so elegant, so fragile in his sleep that I wouldn't be able to help myself and I'd inch closer and pull him into my arms. He's had nightmares, before, when we went on missions. Maybe he still has them. Maybe I'm the one who's there to calm him, or maybe he's the one who's there to hold me when my own demons invade my slumber. Maybe we'd go see the sunset together, or shop for groceries, or just go on walks. Maybe we'd hold hands, and he'd kiss me under the shade of an ancient oak. Maybe we'd lie on top of each other in bed, clothed or naked, awake or asleep. Maybe we'd be in love.

_Love._ My chest becomes unbearably tight at the thought. This is what it feels like to have clung to love for ten years, a love that was unacknowledged, unspoken, unrequited. Ten years – that's a long time to keep a secret, isn't it? That's so stupid. It's not like it isn't obvious I'm in love.

I have to tell him.

I stand up, then immediately sway as the world spins around me. Someone catches me. The voice is a bit difficult to make out: "Naruto? Are you okay?"

"Fine," I reply. When I'm able to walk again, I head out of the restaurant. I make for the door but nearly crash into the wall instead.

"Where are you going?" comes Kiba's voice, as though through sludge. "Naruto, you're drunk. Sit back down."

"I just need to go do something," I say insistently, opening the door. "I'll just be a minute."

"Fuck. Naruto, come on!"

As I careen out the door, a hand grabs my wrist. I shake it off easily enough and keep going. It's hard to focus, hard to see in the dark night, but I cling to one thought, knowing it's the one thing I can't let go: I have to tell Sasuke I love him.

Thankfully it seems like Kiba's stopped trying to hold me back. This is good; I don't want to have to fight him. He'd lose. He keeps pace with me, pushing me back upright as I stumble occasionally. "Where are you going?" he asks. "You can't go home on your own in this state. You're not even going the right way."

"Sasuke," I mumble.

"What? Come on, Naruto. Louder, or more clearly at least. I can't understand you when you're piss drunk."

"Sasuke… I have to tell him." I look around – Shikamaru's here too, and Neji. "I'm going to go tell him I love him."

Shikamaru frowns. "Naruto, where…?"

"You know where he lives," I say bluntly. "Don't play dumb. Are you coming with me? I don't mind, but Sasuke might not want an audience."

"Naruto, Sasuke's—" Kiba begins, but I nearly trip and he has to catch me. I grab onto a railing for support and follow it as I continue on into the night, my head light, my body heated. Find Sasuke, I tell myself. Why didn't he come drinking with us? I guess Sasuke's not that fond of company. He'd have stayed home. I should've stayed with him. I think of him, alone at home – he's probably lonely. Actually, he's probably just reading or training or something, but it'd be nice to keep him company. I think he'd like that, even if he never says it. I like watching him train, to be honest – he doesn't notice, but I stare as he builds his muscles. He's beautiful. He doesn't believe me when I tell him, but he is. Just half an inch taller than me, with silky black hair, porcelain skin, clear eyes. Muscular yet lean, he has an air of silent power about him. A perfect, agile ninja. Why did I never tell him I love him?

I wander the streets for what is probably hours, the others trailing along behind me, talking to each other, occasionally trying to talk me out of this, but I can't give it up and yet Sasuke is nowhere to be found. I can't seem to remember where he lives. I shouldn't have drunk so much, I knew it. Maybe he isn't even home, though. He could be out. I know he likes the moonlight.

"Sasuke?" I call out into the empty night. "Sasuke, where are you?"

Neji puts a hand on my shoulder, but I shake him off as though burned. "Don't touch me," I snap.

"Naruto, you're delirious. Sasuke isn't—"

"He's here," I say. "I can sense him. He's gone out for a walk or something. Sasuke!"

"Naruto, you're gonna wake the whole village," says Kiba. "Come on, let's get you home."

"No – I need to see him," I insist. "It's the only thing I want to do. I have to tell him right away. I love him – I should have told him years ago—"

"Naruto?" says a voice from around the corner. Sai appears, then frowns. "You're drunk. I thought I told you not to go."

"You're not the boss of me," I growl. I keep going down the street, but all of a sudden Sai's in front of me, grabbing my shoulder with a grip too solid to shake off. "Let me go, Sai."

"You're drunk," he says again. "I'm taking you home." Sai wraps an arm around my shoulders and tries to turn me around.

"I need to see Sasuke! If I don't tell him—"

Sai falters; his eyes shift from me to the others behind me. "Naruto," he says slowly, "Sasuke is dead."

The word rings in my ears, my head pounding. "No! I love him," I cry. "I've loved him since I met him, and I've held back saying it for ten years. I have to tell him now, before… before…"

I form a hand sign and switch places with a plank of wood in the railing of the bridge up ahead. The railing collapses under my weight and I tumble to the ground, my arm dangling over the edge of the bridge.

I can't get the word "dead" out of my head. Sai's lying. He must be – Sasuke's always been around; I saw him just this morning, didn't I? I ran into him in the market and he told me I was an idiot. I'm sure it was just this morning. I followed him home, and suddenly we were twelve and we were making dinner together and I was showing him how much I'd learned about cooking since he'd been gone. Then we went out for a walk, we must have, because we ended up in the forest and we were eighteen and training, or we'd gotten into an argument or something, because we were fighting and Sasuke was shouting about how I should give up trying to bring him back. And I shouted back and told him I'd do it if it meant bringing the both of us to within an inch of our lives, and when Chidori and Rasengan clashed—

_Lightning flickering out; a mess of black hair; dead grey eyes; a cold, unmoving body._

A cold shudder runs down my spine. My body convulses and I throw up into the river, coughing as alcohol and stomach acid sear my throat and mouth. I'm shaking, sweating, and crying all at once; the image of Sasuke's dead body is plastered to my eyes, filling me with nausea that forces my innards to purge again.

Running footsteps ring in my ears and shake the bridge, throwing off my balance even though I'm already on all fours. Voices come within my hearing over the sound of the running water. "Naruto? Are you okay?"

I can't stop throwing up. I empty the contents of my stomach, then start puking bile and blood. Someone's saying something about getting Sakura. I can't hold my own weight anymore. Arms envelop me securely; a cloth passes over my sweat-drenched face, wipes the vomit from my mouth; a reassuring voice whispers into my ear, shh, it's okay, everything will be alright. But the words do nothing to calm me. Sasuke is dead. My friend, my rival, my one love. I never told him. I will never get to tell him, never get to see him again. I roll over and spew blood all over the bridge. I don't know where it's coming from, but I can't stop. The dark, metallic taste is so real, so pungent. It reminds me of the scars. With a sudden surge of energy I wrench myself out of Sai's grasp, taking off at a run.

The dagger is still in my pouch. I grab it as I go, knowing it's only a matter of time before they'll catch me. There's nothing left for me here. Maybe being with Sai and Sakura and Kakashi and Yamato could subdue the pain for a while, but it will never leave me. I know this for a fact.

Breathing feels like my throat is ripping to shreds. I hack at the bandages with the dagger until they fall off, revealing my wounds, some of which are still raw. I manage to dart into an alleyway, then jab the dagger into my arm and pull as hard as I can, screaming as the pain blinds me, bringing me to my knees. I can barely hold my arm up anymore, but my hand won't let go of the dagger. I score down my arm again and again, blood spurting onto my face, getting in my mouth, which already tastes like all my innards. I hear is familiar voice shouting my name as though across a great distance, but even that is quickly obscured by the pain. The last thing I see is Sasuke, smiling, holding out a hand as though inviting me to walk alongside him.

* * *

><p>So this turned out completely different from what I'd originally hoped for it to be. Even comparing the beginning and the end seems almost unreal. I mean, if you listen to the song or watch the music video, you get a raw, bare-bones story that I expanded on. Which is good – I always worry about keeping <em>too<em> close to an inspiration, in a sense, because if you don't add anything to it then what's the point? But even then, this is kind of overwhelming.

I know the reasons behind cutting can be quite varied and change from person to person, and I'm only portraying one story in this fic. Any way you look at it, cutting is a serious problem. Though I sometimes mock angst and the like, I regard fiction and real life very differently. There are many things I'm perfectly fine with in fiction that I would never wish upon anyone in real life. I don't mean to belittle the problem or anyone who has to go through hard times.

That being said, this fanfiction is almost gratuitous for me. I don't know if you could call it deep or momentous or anything like that, but it touches on things I've wanted to write about and while I think I may have gone over the top in some parts, I can't deny it's powerful. I think one of my favourite things to write is when emotions bleed into the physical. There's things like the squeezing of one's heart in anxiety or fear, then there's things like a nauseating emotion making you throw up. Of course, it can happen in the positive too – when you're so excited and happy that you just have to scream, or you're so happy you start crying. Ahh, my favourite thing about Emi's doujinshi is when Naruto suddenly just starts crying out of nowhere, startling both Sasuke and himself. It happens a lot, to the point where it's almost repetitive, and yet I can't get enough of it!

But I'm rambling. Thanks for reading.

R+F


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